


A Night Out

by Altariel



Series: The Steward and the King [9]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aragorn and Faramir go to the pub, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altariel/pseuds/Altariel
Summary: What do Aragorn and Faramir do on their night off?





	A Night Out

**A Night Out**

_Harlond, in the Fourth Age_

The sun would soon be setting. It was a warm evening; pleasant. The King of the West sat in an inn by the docks, watching the stevedores unload crates. He was drinking wine, morosely, and waiting for the other man to arrive. The ferry from Ithilien had docked, and the Prince would not be far behind.

He appeared, as if from nowhere, soft-footed and wearing a hood. He took his seat with a nod of greeting, and poured himself some wine. They sat for a while and drank.

“I miss beer,” said the King, eventually. “Proper beer.”

“Mm,” said Ithilien, whose province derived a substantial income from wine-making. “Please don’t say that in public.”

They sat in silence and watched the unloading of the ship. It quickly became clear that some of the crates were being held to one side. The Prince sighed.

The King lit his pipe. “I did think,” he said, “that everything would be considerably more, well… _regal_.”

“I knew I didn’t want to be king.”

“Yesterday,” the King went on, “an envoy came to me from a country whose name I cannot pronounce. He wore bones.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“His father’s finger bones.”

“It is hard not to judge sometimes,” agreed the Prince. “But I believe some people find embalming repulsive.” He picked up the wine bottle and looked at the label, which bore a white moon. He looked out at the crates and frowned. “Last week,” Ithilien said, “a man came to talk to me about dry stone walling. For hours. Hours. He was passionate about the subject. Whatever passion I had was long gone by the time he departed.”

“Dry stone walling?”

“An ancient craft. It could even be considered an art form, in many ways—”

The King held up his pipe to stop the flow of information before it began. “I believe you. But I also believe I can better you. This morning, I heard a petition to end the kingship and pass rule to the people. The man who came to see me was very earnest. He spoke about ‘common wealth’ and ‘public matters’—”

“A most interesting theory,” said the Steward. “It would not be a large step to govern Gondor in that way. You were crowned in part as a result of popular assent.”

The King eyed him, narrowly. “How do you know about all this?”

“I met him last month. I sent him your way.”

“Thank you,” said Elessar, gravely.

The Prince continued watching the stevedores. “Do you think we should stop them? I shall see no tax from it.”

They contemplated the men working, and then contemplated each other. The King shrugged. “Best leave it to Húrin.”

They sat back. Several more pipes were smoked, and several more bottles of contraband wine were drunk. The sun set. As the moon rose over a beautiful starry night, they parted company, one bound for the ferry, one for the city. “See you next week.”

Behind them, the inn bore a new sign that both had missed: _By Royal Appointment_.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my 100th story at fanfiction.net, and so had to be something particularly in the spirit of the book. What is more Tolkien-ish than the pub. As the good Professor himself said: Fourth Age stories – not worth doing.  
>  _Altariel, 29th September 2018_


End file.
